Halloween
by TheEquestrianidiot 2.0
Summary: Tonight is a special night in Gravity Falls. Halloween. A time for celebration with tricks, treats and scares. But when a new resident visits and begins to stalk Wendy, there's no mystery to solve. Just a fight for survival. Or as much fight as one can give against an unstoppable force of evil. Happy Halloween.
1. Chapter 1

He stood in the shadow of the tall hedgerow, looking and listening. He had seen them kissing in the kitchen, then Danny had come out on the porch for a minute to set the jack-o'-lantern down. When Danny returned, they had gone upstairs. A few minutes later, the light in Judy's bedroom had gone off. Now, above the rustle of the wind in the crisp leaves of the huge oaks on the front lawn, he could hear their sighs, moans, and giggles.

And they filled him with murderous hatred.

The voice in his head had become subdued for the moment as he listened to Judy and Danny, not really understanding the significance of their utterances except that it had to do with love. He had heard similar sounds coming from his mother and father's room. But he had felt warmly toward his mother.

His step-father was a different story.

He never liked his step-father. He would always berate him, talk down to him and beat him. And he was drunk most of time. Like now.

Which would make him easier to tie up.

Looking around to make certain he wasn't being observed, he slipped across the lawn past the front porch, ducking stealthily to avoid the orange glare of the jack-o'-lantern. He sidled along the shingles on the side of the house and tiptoed up the stairs of the side door. He turned the knob and the door opened. He wasn't surprised. People didn't lock their doors in Haddonfield; what was there to fear?

He slipped into the kitchen and crossed to the sink. Go ahead, the voice told him, you know what to do. He opened the drawer and reached in and pulled out a large roll of duct tape. His fingers enclosed on another thing he was looking for, and he withdrew it from the drawer.

It was a butcher knife.

He touched the tip with the meat of his index finger. It pricked him. He ran his thumb along the edge of the eight-inch blade. It left a thin neat trail of blood.

He glided out of the kitchen and into the parlor, where he paused, listening. He heard them talking while they dressed and straightened up. But he never heard the leave the room, so he went into parlor and continued with his plan.

Slowly, he walked up behind his step-father as he slept and stared at him. And then he began.

He started with his legs, opening the tape as quitely as he wrapped it around his legs. He moved on to his torso and then his head, leaning it back as he exposed his throat. That was good.

Admiring his work, he slipped on his clown mask. Raising his hand, he ran the blade of the knife along his step fathers exposed throat. His eyes snapped open as blood splurted out from his gaping wound. He stood above his step-father watching. Waiting.

Eventually, his step-father stopped twitching, and the flow of blood stopped. It ran down his body, and pooled together on the carpet, staning it a dark brown. Satisfed, he left the room and waited.

He pressed himself against the wall as footsteps creaked down the stairs.

He saw Danny, in jeans, barefoot and shirtless. His hair was mussed and his cheeks were flushed as if he'd been kissed with hard passion. He stomped into the kitchen and popped open the fridge, gathering ingredients and bread for a sandwich.

Danny never noticed the smell of blood.

He never turned to look into the parlor to watch TV.

He never heard the footsteps behind him.

He never saw the baseball bat raise above his head.

Danny's body hit the floor with a thud as his spasmmed and twitched, drooling on the floor from the shock of the blow. The bat was brought down again, as blood splattered everywhere. He swung down again, and Danny's head cracked. He swung again and again and again, until Danny's head was mush, and dropped the bat with a thud.

He stepped out of the shadows of the parlor and furtively made his way up the stairs, pausing at the landing to look and listen. Judy's clothes were still strewn in a trail from the top of the stairs to her bed. He followed them like a hunter tracking the spoor of his prey. He stopped outside her open door, and saw a stark, white mask laying discarded on the floor. He took off his clown mask and slipped on the white one on, peering inside the room. She sat in her red valentine bikini panties, brushing her hair before the mirror on her dresser. She hummed a tune in her pretty voice.

He stepped into the room and was halfway across when she saw him. Her eyes clouded and her eyebrows knit with puzzlement. She crossed her wrists in front of her exposed breasts. She recognized him through the mask and called his name, bewildered. "Okay, is this a joke . . . ?"

He continued coming at her.

"Get out of here, Goddamn it. Get out of here before I . . ."

The first slash of the knife caught her on the wrist, splashing blood across her chest and legs. She looked at the wound with more surprise than pain. She couldn't believe it was happening. Then she realized.

She jumped to her feet and backed away to the wall, knocking over her chair. "What are you doing? What are you doing?" she cried. As he raised the blade again, she held her hand out to protect herself. He slashed the hand viciously, and it dropped limply to her side. Now she was shrieking insanely as she grasped what was happening. He plunged the knife into her right breast, and a great gout of scarlet blood spurted out of the wound and soaked his hand and wrist. He thrust the blade into her belly. At what point she died, he didn't know, for now that she was defenseless he stuck the knife into her again and again, jamming it into her breasts, belly, crotch, arms, legs, and throat. He stabbed her fifty times if he stabbed her once, exultation sweeping over him like no joy he had ever known.

The paroxysms began to die down and he stood over her, spent. It was almost impossible to recognize this piece of hacked flesh. Blood was everywhere, and the sour odor of it rose up from his hands, intoxicating him.

The gory little figure turned and stepped over the fallen furniture and scattered clothing and walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, stepping over Danny's disfigured body. Suddenly he realized he was hungry. He reached into a bowl on the kitchen counter and stuffed a cookie into his mouth, then opened the refrigerator door and removed a bottle of milk. He emptied half of it into his mouth directly from the bottle and wiped his mouth with his bloody sleeve, leaving a streak of red and white across his cheek.

He opened the side door and went outside, still carrying the butcher knife, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. He stepped out onto the lawn and stood there for a minute indecisively.

At that moment a dark sedan pulled up to the curb. The assassin made no attempt to flee, but stood on the lawn waiting for the occupant of the car to get out. After a moment the front door opened and a woman emerged. She took two or three paces toward the house, then saw him and stopped, staring at the figure in the bloodstained clown costume with a bloodclotted butcher knife in his hand.

The woman reached out and removed the mask from the boy's face.

"Michael . . . ?"

* * *

 ** _I met him, fifteen years ago; I was told there was nothing left; no reason, no conscience, no understanding; and even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, of good or evil, right or wrong. I met this boy, this 10-year-old child, with this blank, pale, emotionless face, and the blackest eyes... the devil's eyes._**

* * *

 _"...killed by her younger brother, 10-year-old Michael Myers..."_

 _" ...the Myers family, and was described by police as Manson-like in its viciousness, and more horrific than anything Hollywood could imagine. Judith Myers' body was found lying face-down in a pool of blood in an upstairs hallway. Apparently she had been stabbed 17 times. Her boyfriend Daniel Haley's body was found in the kitchen downstairs, the victim of an apparent vicious beating with an aluminum baseball bat._ _Along with Myers and Haley, a third victim, Ronnie White, who was found bound to a chair, White's neck slit wide open with a kitchen knife and stabbed numerous times in the face and chest. Of course we'll have much more on this horrific story as it develops. But for now, three people brutally murdered, and a 10-year-old boy, Michael Myers, being held in custody. . ."_

 _". . . I'm standing outside Smith's Grove Sanitarium where late last night, 10-year-old Michael Myers was transferred after being found guilty of first-degree murder. Myers' verdict comes after one of the lengthiest and most expensive trials in the state's history. In attendance during this trial, Dr. Samuel Loomis. Loomis has now been appointed by Judge Masterson to oversee Myers' care while incarcerated here at Smith's Grove. . . "_

* * *

 _ **Those eyes will deceive you, they will destroy you. They will take from you, your innocence, your pride, and eventually your soul. Those eyes do not see what you and I see. Behind those eyes one finds only blackness, the absence of light, those are of a psychopath.**_

* * *

 _". . . This is Chopper 2, I wanna take you below. This situation is just incredible. I can't believe what I'm reporting, but a man who police believe to be deceased serial killer Michael Myers has taken a hostage, now identified as Laurie Strode. Miss Strode allegedly shot and killed Myers herself after being abducted on Halloween night. And as if this story couldn't get more twisted, it was revealed earlier today. . . "_

 _". . . Moments ago police reported that Michael Myers, formerly of Haddonfield, who had fled the Smith's Grove Sanitarium last night, was believed to have been shot to death. Meanwhile, three bodies were discovered in the house directly behind me. Identification of the victims is being withheld."_

 _". . . Doctor Samuel Loomis has been reported dead after a massive car accident yesterday . . . "_

* * *

 ** _I spent eight years trying to reach him, and then another seven trying to keep him locked up because I realized that what was living behind that boy's eyes was purely and simply. . . evil._**

* * *

 _"This just in: police have recently discovered that Laurie Strode has died. Strode was blindsided by a drunk driver crossing through a red light. A survivor of the bloody chain of brutal murders that occurred on Halloween night in 1978, Strode leaves behind her 4-month-old daughter Gwendolyn Corduroy, who is currently in the custody of her biological father and was Strode's boyfriend at the time, Daniel Corduroy. Upon further investigation of the events that occurred in 1978, it was revealed that the perpetrator of the murders, masked serial killer Michael Myers, was in fact the brother of Laurie Strode. Myers was believed to be dead after being caught in a massive hospital fire. However, a body was never recovered."_

* * *

It was time of year when the days are short and the shadows are long. When the earth tilts still further on its axis and the seasons hang suspended between autumn and winter; when the very light seems to change and colors deepen mysteriously. . . .

You know what it is like.

The morning sun arcs away across the sky, the afternoon rushes impatiently toward dusk, the cutting edge of darkness like the blade of a sundial pointed and turning under eaves and porches. A time of dampness and slow, flaking rust, of barking dogs that are never seen, of creaking lampposts and pale neon signs, of telephone lines that crackle as if underwater. Of distant traffic and the laughter of children fading behind you and in front of you all at once; of the broken moon drifting like a gauze-covered face. Of the dripping condensation in chattering drainpipes, of the clutching of wings in the roofs of mouldering garages. Of frost on glass; of moist, endless coughs. Of mildewed gloves and too-thin socks, of soft newspapers and food that is never hot, of litter dropped in gutters melting into paste, of laundry wilting before it can be folded away, of labels buckling from jars in the musty cupboard and of your own white breathing, alone at midnight, glazing the window and then slipping out through the screen to meet the cold steam settling in the flowerbeds below. . .

It was the thirty-first of October in Gravity Falla, Oregeon.

It was late. Very late.

Once again, it was Halloween.


	2. Chapter 2

The familiar sounds of The Chordette's 'Mr. Sandman' woke Wendy Corduroy from her fitful sleep. Instinctively the seventeen year old reached a hand out to her bedside table and hit the off button on the speaker dock, not even flinching when the force of her hand made her iPhone rattle out of the stand and clatter to the floor.

Another night of poor sleeping. It had been going on for almost two weeks now and she was starting to think that it was time to see a doctor, although she didn't think a typical physician would do anything more than prescribe her sleeping pills.

She lay curled under her blankets, her eyes jammed tightly shut against the autumn sunlight streaming into her room, knowing that at any minute her brothers would start hollering for her to get up and make them breakfast. Unbidden, she felt her blood boil at the very thought. They were allowed to stay up all hours of the night and sleep in until noon but God forbid she forgets to feed them. Her nostrils flared and her eyebrows tensed at the injustice and not for the first time in her life she wished they would just go away.

Wendy opened her eyes.

No...those kinds of thoughts weren't really right. She put it down to the lack of sleep and typical teenaged angst.

Sighing resignedly, Wendy kicked off her sheets, ran a hand through her long red hair and, taking extra care to not step on her iPhone, she headed to the bathroom that adjoined her bedroom to shower, shutting the door with a click. It was things like having her own bathroom that reminded her that no matter how bad things got she had a lot to be grateful for.

She was a pretty girl, slim and angular, with her hair falling without fanfare to her shoulders. Farrah hairstyles were all the rage for some reason but Wendy thought it was an affectation and a pain in the ass to keep up. Though not exactly a bookworm, she had decided there were simply too many more interesting things to do, like reading, than to spend all that time washing, blow-drying, teasing, and combing, to say nothing of dyeing or frosting your hair if you really wanted to do that trip the right way.

She wasted no time in twisting the dual knobs below the stainless showerhead, starting up the flow of water. Wendy reached a hand out, placing it under the stream. It took a moment, but then her fingers curled slightly at the feel of the warm water pelting them, and she drew her hand away. That would do nicely.

She took a few steps back, pulling her shirt up and over her head. Her bra dropped at her feet, followed by her panties. She stepped out of the underwear, glancing at herself in the mirror as she did so. Even after all the time she'd spent seeing herself in the mirror, she still half-expected to see an ugly girl with braces and twin pigtails whenever she looked at her reflection. Not that she minded her gained teenage beauty... much. The amount of idiots that would hit on was pretty irritating at the best of times, after all. She shrugged off the thought, continuing over to the shower.

She stepped up and over the edge of the bathtub, her feet landing softly on the cool porcelain that had yet to match the temperature of the hot water that was now hitting her thigh. She pulled the rest of her body in under the stream, hastily sliding the curtain shut before leaning both hands against the wall opposite the showerhead. She let out a long, drawn-out sigh, shutting her eyes as the heated stream pelted her shoulders like a barrage of tiny spikes and rolled down her back, rivulets of the clear liquid sliding down her legs and to the white tub at her feet.

There she stood, taking in the warmth for a few seconds before steadily pushing against the wall, tilting her head back and bringing it under the spray. Her hair grew heavy and limp as Wendy turned her head from one side to the other and back again, getting it thoroughly soaked. She brought up a hand, using it to push aside some of the wet strands of red as they stuck to her face. She reached the hand back, sliding it under her drenched hair and pulling it up and over one shoulder to expose the back of her neck to the stream.

Wendy crossed her legs and turned on one heel, finally facing the deluge to let it pound across her bare chest. Her hands slid past one another and came to rest against her ribs, arms held just below her dripping breasts. She shifted her feet along the lightly textured bottom of the tub, moving herself closer to the showerhead and bringing the stream of water to her face, eyes clenching shut.

She held the position for only a few seconds, which was as much as she could bear before her instincts brought her face backward to keep her from drowning, even if she wasn't even close to real danger. She exhaled sharply, expelling some water that had wandered into her nostrils. Her arms uncrossed, dumping out the little pools that had formed where her arms met her chest. Her hands moved up and over her face, wiping away some of the collected moisture before combing her fingers back through her tangling hair. Then her arms crossed again, she breathed deep the steam rising up from the tub floor, and she stood still.

The warm droplets wove their way over her body like mice in a maze, turning and twisting across every imperfection in her skin and every curve she possessed, until they finally either reached the floor or the end of an extremity. They would hang there from her elbows and her shining bundles of hair, pausing as though considering their next destination before falling away and splashing into the tub with their fellows. She'd felt each one on her skin, at first, but they soon blended together. The sensation went from an army of drops to a single state of being covered, in her mind. For a couple of minutes, such was Wendy's world, and she felt no hurry at the moment o change that fact.

Reaching out, she picked up the white bottle of body wash she kept on a shallow shelf just to her right. She turned the bottle over in her hands, running her thin fingers across the label and over the red cap just before popping it open and squirting some of the pink goo into one palm. She snapped the cap shut against a tiled wall before replacing it on the shelf, bringing her other hand up to her face. A contented smile formed on her lips as she took a quick sniff of the strawberry-scented substance.

She'd always loved strawberries, especially growing up. It always reminded her of the little garden that her mother had by the side of the house. They would grow a few different things, like tomatoes and carrots, but Wendy only ever cared about the strawberries. Tomatoes were mushy and carrots were bland, but strawberries were always a pleasure to bite into. Of course, it had been a long time since anything had been grown in the little strip of dirt. Even before her mother died, the garden had sat unused for quite some time, a silent reminder of the woman who took care of it.

Wendy pulled her hand away, blinking a couple of times to bring herself back to the present and clearing the tears threatening to fall. She sighed quietly, rubbing her hands together before slathering the viscous liquid over each arm. Onto her shoulders she moved, spreading the goo across her collarbones and awkwardly pasting some onto her back before proceeding to her front. Each hand slid along one side of her chest, coming to meet in the middle and sliding up over her breasts, pausing ever-so-briefly to twirl a bit of the soap around each nipple before traveling onward to her neck. Her hands slid back down, each finger slowly running over her nipples and then down to her hips and running against her crotch. She drew in a sharp breath as her middle finger rubbed against her slit, then exhaled a slow sigh as the finger began a circular stirring motion against her sensitive nub, sending sending a jolt of pleasure through her. _Damn,_ she thought. She had forgotten how good that could feel, even just by herself.

Her right hand slid past a thigh, her index and ring fingers rooting in and rubbing along either side of her slit. Her eyes briefly landed on the bottle of bodywash, but she'd learned a long time ago that soap really wasn't the best for that sort of thing. She was sure she'd be able to get by with just the water and herself, anyway.

Heat built up beneath her slender fingers, and it wasn't from the shower water still running down her body. Wendy's free hand moved up past her shoulders, pressing lightly against the back of her neck. Her right hand added a third finger to the mix, this one running in between her moistening lower-

 _No. NO. **NO. BAD WENDY.** Now is **NOT** the time to be doing that! _Wendy mentally scolded herself. She was in control of her body, not brainless hormones. She would do what she wanted, when she wanted, and how she wanted to do it, and not when some chemical switch was flipped, otherwise she'd probably have gotten pregnant by now. Her hands stopping, she continued where the originally left off, lathering shampoo into her hair.

She only showered for fifteen minutes. She had more than an hour before school but she couldn't stand her brother's snide jibes if she decided to take long showers. And yet it was perfectly fine for them to carry on until three in the morning, making all sorts of melodramatic noises while she tried to sleep, and if she ever mentioned it she never heard the end of it. If Wendy wanted to do what all healthy teenaged girls did and take care of business in the shower in her own bathroom she hardly saw how that was anybody's business but her own. Still, things had been relatively quiet and she wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

She turned off the water's flow after running her fingers through the stream a final time, and moved the shower curtain aside. She stepped over to the mirror, but found it was completely fogged up. A glance at the little set of switches by the door told her she'd forgotten to turn on the bathroom's fan, and her only response was a short chuckle and a roll of her eyes. as she dried her body.

Her room was on the second floor of the old house that her family occupied. It was high ceilinged but small, with her bed, computer desk and TV stand all cramped in together. The floor was strewn with her clothes and as Wendy hopped around dressing herself she stopped every few seconds to toss the old articles into the laundry hamper. If her room at least looked clean then she could keep the peace a little while longer.

She dressed in simple attire, blue jeans, socks, her old boots, and a white shirt under a green plaid button up. Loaded down under two heavy book bags, she appeared to be round-shouldered and flat-chested, but that didn't worry her. She knew that when she set out to dress and make up for a date, she could hold her own with anybody in her high-school class. But today was a school day and there is no way you can look glamorous on a school day short of getting your own private porter or chauffeur to carry you and your books to school. So you do the best you can, and if your friends tease you about your waddle, you grin and bear it.

As she was pulling on a green hoodie she chanced a glance out the window to the houses across the street and blinked in mild surprise at the paper skeletons, plastic ghosts and pumpkin faced orange trash bags bedecking their yards and homes.

Shit.

It was Halloween today and she'd almost forgotten. Hastily she threw open her closet and rummaged through the contents, trying to find the costume she'd purchased. After a moment Wendy halted, an old pair of panties in her hand. Of course she wouldn't find any costume in here because she'd forgotten to buy one.

To be one of a handful of sober suited students on today of all days was nothing short of numbing. She loved Halloween and cursed herself for having put off costume shopping for so long.

"WENDY!"

Her brother's voice bellowed up the stairs at her and for a moment she tensed in irritation. Why couldn't they ever just leave her be for five FUCKING minutes!? She had never been late for school and this early in the school year she wasn't about to let that happen.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself down Wendy picked up her phone with a shaking hand and headed down the stairs. As she went she composed a quick text message to Dipper. He and Mabel had said they would be picking her up this morning and if she convinced them to get her earlier then maybe she'd have a decent chance of hitting up the party store on the way to school and getting hetself at least a passable costume. She hadn't even determined what it was that she would be going as yet.

The kitchen was buzzing with noise when she entered. The TV was on, broadcasting the news. On the shelf the coffee maker was humming as it dripped ochre liquid into her brother's travel mug. Her second youngest brother was sitting at the table, talking animatedly to the youngest, Dexter who was giggling as he ate his cereal with a plastic spoon that ended in a cartoony triceratops head. As Wendy passed by she ruffled the three year old's scruffy red hair which of course only made him giggle all the more.

"Morning squirt," she said, plopping herself into a vacant chair and reaching for a piece of toast from the pile in the middle of the table.

"Gwenny!" Dexter said cheerfully.

She let a small smile cross her face. Since he'd been able to talk Dexter had only ever called Wendy by that name after once hearing her full name get screamed at her by her oldest brother.

She could never understand why her brother was so angry all the time. Maybe spending three years of your life raising a three kids with a dad who's never home when everyone else had parents that were always there for them wasn't an easy thing to live with...at least that's what Wendy tried to reason herself to thinking whenever she got the brunt of her brother's temper.

The man in question turned from the counter with his travel mug in hand. His brother, and herself, had been an raised as lumberjacks and were athletes in school and although she'd developed a small paunch with age, she had an athlete's build that took it away, which was yet another reason Wendy tried hard not to give too much pushback. Her brother could probably flatten her if he really wanted too and although Wendy had inherited those "Freak Lumberjack genes" as Stanley Pines had called them, she was too gangly to put up much of a winning fight. Plus, her father had always preferred training her brothers with the fighting then her.

In that same instant Wendy felt something angry and dark prickle her insides, something that vowed that if her brother so much as looked at Dexter with anything other than sibling love then Wendu would gladly cut the man's fucking head clean off.

Wendy visibly flinched.

It was thoughts like that that made her wonder whether or not her teen angst had crossed the border into insanity. She quickly shovelled more toast into her mouth as her older brother walked into the room and focused her attention on her brother, who was still munching cereal next to her.

Something must have shown on her face when that dark though had crossed her mind. Her brother lowered her mug and gave Wendy an all too familiar stare.

"Something you wanna say?" He asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. Wendy shook her head, keeping her eyes on the tablecloth. She knew it was best not to challenge the man when he used that tone of voice.

Forcibly, Danny tried to cut the tension. "Hey Wen, did you manage to find a babysitter for tonight?"

She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the tablecloth. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she hastily picked up his phone, hoping that Dipper had gotten back to her so that at least she could have the excuse of being in conversation with her friends to spare her at least some of her brother's wrath but there was no reply to her earlier text.

"Well maybe I can get one of my friend's sister's to come by," Danny went on, keeping his voice purposefully level. "Not all of them are doing something tonight."

"I think Wendy still has something she'd like to say," Wendy's brother said, still with that predator-like gaze.

Fear creeped it's way up her back but Wendy knew sge still had a shot of getting out of this unscathed. All she had to do was supplicate and her brother would be appeased.

 _No_ , said a quiet voice in her head, not this time. _You haven't done a fucking thing wrong._

She swallowed her piece of toast and gave her brother a perfectly innocent look and said, "I wasn't gonna say anything."

"Don't lie to me!" Her brother said. " You were obviously just dying to say something a moment ago."

 _Goddammit, why the fuck does he always have to press the issue!?_ Wendy took a deep breath and decided to push on. If she acted as though nothing were wrong then maybe it wouldn't be. She pushed herself out of her chair and went to the sink to wash her plate, dangerously close to her brother's reach. She said nothing as she turned in the tap, her heart hammering in her chest. If she could just get out the door fast enough she'd be safe. Her brother wasn't one to air the family's dirty laundry in public.

"I asked you a question!" Her brother barked suddenly but Wendy managed to restrain herself from jumping in alarm.

"Dude, leave her alone!" Danny said feebly from the table.

"Shut up!" Her brother said punitively, his arm braced on the counter in front of Wendy who was trapped between her brother and the stove. "Miss Hotshot here clearly thinks she knows-"

"Jesus Christ dude, do you ever not assume anything about me?"

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. Time in the kitchen seemed to stand still, even Dexter was watching the scene with wide, green eyes. Wendy brother's face turned an ugly red, his beady eyes narrow. Before Wendy could dodge out of the way, the back of the man's hand lashed out, striking her so hard in the face that Wendy staggered backwards into the fridge.

"Wendy!" Her second youngest brother cried out in dismay at the same time that Dexter started crying. Spots dancing before her eyes Wendy righted herself and stared levelly at her brother who stood in front of her, a look of disbelief on his face at what he'd just done.

There was silence between them for a prolonged moment.

"Wen..." Her brother said in a shaky voice, taking a step forward but Wendy didn't want to hear it. Her head was still spinning from the blow. At the table her other brothers was desperately trying to quiet Dexter down. Wendy's hand was going numb and it took her a second to realize why. She'd gripped the edge of the sink when she'd stumbled backwards...or at least she thought she had. Looking down she saw that her fingers were closed tightly around the handle of a long, sharp kitchen knife.

She glanced up at her brother who still looked stunned at what she'd once more allowed himself to do and for a microsecond Wendy could distinctly feel what it would be like to close the distance between them and sink the blade repeatedly into that motherfuckers skull, to hear the slice of metal through flesh and feel the man's warm blood oozing down over her fingers.

Her cell phone buzzed. It was a text message from Dipper. Her free hand shaking, Wendy pulled it out of her pocket and read the reply message:

 _Meet us at the gas station? I gotta refuel my car real quick._

The moment of silence ended. Letting go of the knife, Wendy spun on het heel, grabbed her backpack off of the floor and flung the front door open to the crisp chill of the October morning air.

It was only when she'd reached the bottom step that the crucible of emotions exploded and despite being out in broad daylight Wendy let the tears fall as she walked down the street, her head bowed, not noticing the steadfast stare of a man in faded mechanic's overalls watching him from the other end of the street, his head cocked curiously to one aide.


	3. Chapter 3

Sniffling, Wendy noticed the smell in the air. It was cool and tangy with a faint touch of woodsmoke. Someone had lit a fire in a fireplace somewhere down the street, and for Wendy it had a special significance: It marked, in her own mind, the official start of winter. Of course, winter didn't truly begin until the third week in December, a little less than two months away, and you couldn't ask for a more autumnal event than Halloween, which took place tonight. Nevertheless, Wendy thought about winter, and felt that same mixture of eagerness and dread that most midwesterners feel about the season.

She was slightly surprised to note several younger children already dressed in Halloween costumes. Then she realized they were not trick-or-treating at eight in the morning, but merely dressed up for Halloween parties at school. Her striking green eyes warmed ever so slightly as two little six-year-old girls with eminently solemn faces glided by in satin gowns and rhinestone tiaras, turning occasionally to bark warnings to the gruff little pirates and cowboys who teased them ten paces behind.

The gas station was down two blocks and around the corner and although a part of him wished that Dipper and Mabel had pulled up to her house to get her she was more grateful that she had an opportunity for an early escape, for a chance to calm down. At least this way she had a chance to walk off her anger and frustration.

She managed to get her tears under control in a few minutes and by that point she'd become aware of the throbbing in her face. She prayed to God that she hadn't developed a bruise. The last thing she needed or wanted was for her friends to see more evidence of her brother's abusive behaviour.

The thing that pissed her off most was that whether it was shouting her down or hitting her, Wendy's brother always had to act so damn surprised by his own actions, as if he hadn't known what had gotten into him. The first several times it had happened Wendy had completely believed that his older brother hadn't meant to lash out with such violence but she knew better. Her brother used the ignorance as a defence mechanism against himself. In his mind if he played the man who honestly hadn't meant too then he could somehow excuse his behaviour.

It only served to anger Wendy further. The sheer gall that her brother had in acting the victim was enough to make Wendy wish she'd used that knife on the bastard when she'd had the chance. Perhaps that was why her brother was always so abusive. He'd seen the dark look in his sister's eyes that morning when she'd made that little jibe. Maybe he was afraid that one day he would finally push her too far and wanted to keep her as downtrodden as possible in hopes that she could extinguish any fight that Wendy had.

Fat fucking chance, Wendy thought bitterly, keeping her head bowed as she continued to walk down the sidewalk. Her brother was just making it worse every time he chose to lash out. The fact that Wendy would have probably stabbed the man if Dipper's text hadn't broken through his wrath proved that. And it was this growing, twisted hatred in her that made things worse.

No. I'm not that kind of person, Wendy told herself. She didn't want to hurt anybody, least of all the way she thought of hurting her brother but day by day she could almost feel something in her growing, something malevolent...something evil. Wendy shook her head and scoffed at the idea. She wasn't a monster and as far as she was concerned that present darkness was more of an enemy than her brother was. She was almost eighteen. Once she reached that age she could find somewhere else to go or at least she would if she weren't so afraid about what would happen to Dexter once she was out of the family home.

She stopped suddenly and frowned. A strange, creeping sensation was working it's way up her spine. She felt the unpleasant feeling of somebody watching her and she glanced behind, expecting to see some punk little kid in a costume trying to pull a Halloween prank or even her brother come to offer up a pathetic apology. But upon looking around she saw nothing but the empty, decorated street.

At the end of the street Wendy took the left turn and walked across the intersection to the gas station. He could see Dipper's dark green convertible parked at one of the vacant lanes. Mabel was sitting in the passenger seat, her arm dangling over the edge of the window, banging her head in time to metal music blaring on the radio.

Before she approached the car, Wendy threw the hood of his hoodie up and tightened the pine tree cap she had on her head. She didn't know the extent of her bruising and took the chance that the shadow cast by the hood and hat would be enough to hide it. Then she strode forward and gave a gentle tug on Mabel's dangling hand. She looked around and smiled. Usually she wore her brown hair down but today she'd tied it up into two long pigtails.

15 year old Mabel grew was a knockout, with a supermodel face and a body from a magazine. She never wore makeup though which was why Wendy was slightly surprised to find that her face had been powdered starch white, her eyes heavily shadowed and dark blue veins lined onto her face and neck.

"Well, don't you look alive," she said with a grin as she slid into the seat behind her.

Mabel giggled and gave Wendy a quick one armed hug. "I'm a zombie cheerleader." She tugged on the front of the tank top she wore which had been slashed at various parts and caked with fake blood.

Dipper came out of the station a second later. Wendy's eyebrow's raised in amusment when she saw the costume her friend wore. It was simple black outfit, tight black pants and boots atoning his lower body. A tight long sleeved UnderArmor shirt showed of the light muscles on his torso, and a long black trenchcoat was draped over his left shoulder and his normlly brown hair was now dyed black and was long, messy and unkempt. His face was painted stark white, and black eyeliner surrounded his eyes with a vertical line crossing through them. Black lipstick covered his lips, reaching well past his lips and ending on his cheeks. His wide, black grin widened when he saw Wendy in the back seat and Wendy grinned right back, looking right into his big brown eyes.

"Nice makeup job, dude," she said.

Dipper glowered at her, blushing. "It's not makeup, it's facepaint."

"Looks like makeup to me."

"Mabel will you please tell her it's not makeup!" Dipper said as he slid into the driver's seat.

"Oh, it's totally makeup! I should because I helped you put it on your face!" Mabel said laughing.

Wendy chuckled as she asked Dipper, "What are you even supposed to be dude? You look like an Alice Cooper clown reject."

Dipper answered while keeping his focus on the road. "You ever see an old movie called "The Black Bird"?"

"I've heard of it. Is it the one where that artist dude dies and is brought back to life some magic bird?"

"That's the one!" Dipper said with a smile.

Wendy chuckled softly and looked out the side of the car, watching the town pass by and relishing in the feeling of the crisp morning air blowing through her hair.

As they drove down the street, Wendy listened comfortably as Dipper and Mabel told her about how hard it had been to go costume shopping on such short notice. She decided not to mention the fact that he had 't purchased a costume. She had a pass period after lunch. Maybe she could ask them to go to the party store then.

"By the way," Mabel said, digging around in her purse, "I checked over the physics thing you sent me and you could not have been more wrong if you tried."

Wendy groaned, taking her papers back from her.

"I don't understand it," she went on, "you're totally great at English but you choke on the easy stuff."

"Easy for you maybe," Wendy said glumly, glancing down at the numerous corrections Mabel had pointed out in red pen.

"Physics is so easy!" She insisted.

"You're a lateral thinker," Wendy told her. "I'm not. I can't help it if shit like this," she shook the papers for emphasis, "is about as much fun as watching cheese age."

"Don't take it so hard," Dipper said with a reassuring smile. "Miss Lollipop Chainsaw here failed the English essay."

"You weren't supposed to tell!" Mabel said with a pout.

Dipper shook his head in disbelief. "Mabel, I spent like four hours helping you with that thing!"

"I don't have the imagination for English," Mabel insisted.

"But you've got enough to put that uniform through a meat grinder," Dipper shot back with a smile.

They had just pulled up to the intersection that lead to the main road the students used to go to the high school. The light turned green and Dipper had started to pull into the middle of the street when out of nowhere a rusty old pick up truck passed by them at high speed, cutting in front of the car and barely avoiding clipping the front end. Dipper slammed on the breaks and blared on the horn, glaring at the driver as Mabel swore angrily.

"What the fuck?!" Dipper yelled as the car continued down the street. "Watch where the hell you're going psycho!" He roared at the driver. The truck screeched to a halt down the road, staying perfectly still for a lingering moment.

Wendy stared furtively at the truck, wondering and also fearing what the driver would do next. The truck was old but powerfully built, rusting at the edges and caked with dirt. The license plate was from out of state and as Wendy looked closer she saw that it was out of country, from Canada. Obviously the son of a bitch didn't know how to drive south of the border.

Sh couldn't see the driver this far away but got the sense that he was watching them just as intently as they were watching him.

A horn behind them sounded.

"Come on," Mabel said. "We're holding up traffic."

Dipper moved on, glaring at the road ahead of him. Wendy turned around in her seat. The truck had also moved on, heading down the other street and out of sight.

"I thought Canadians were supposed to be nice," Mabel remarked, turning back around.

"They are," Dipper grumbled. "But they're shit drivers when they come down here apparently. We're probably too aggressive for them."

"Well I didn't get his plates. Did you guys bother?"

Mabel shook her head. "I was too busy trying to not die of a heart attack."

They drove on, all three showering abuse on the reckless driver of the pick up truck. As they pulled into Gravity High School's spacious student parking lot Mabel turned in her seat.

"Holy stuffing!" She gasped and Dipper, looking around, suddenly looked furious.

"What is it?" Wendy asked, looking around in panic, expecting to see the pick up come careening into the parking lot behind them. "Is that guy back?"

Mabel just stared at her blankly while in the driver's seat Dipper was holding the wheel in a white knuckle grip.

"What is it?!" Wendy hissed, losing her patience now.

"Wendy," Mabel said softly, "your face..."

The blood froze in Wendy's veins. Automatically she touched the top of her head only to find that the hood had flopped off, most likely when Dipper had braked back at the intersection. She looked balefully at Mabel, not knowing quite what to say. Then without warning Dipper, who had sat in stony silence since seeing the bruises on Wendy's face, turned the key in the ignition, gunning the engine and backing up without warning.

"Dipper!" Wendy yelped, flung back into her seat from the force.

"I'll kill him," Dipper said through gritted teeth as he spun the car around, ignoring Mabel who was gripping her seat to avoid tumbling out of the car. "I don't care how much bigger or how much stronger he thinks he is, I am going to _**fucking**_ kill him!"

"No!" Wendy said in a voice just under a shout. She flung herself forward and put a hand on Dipper's shoulder. "Dip, please just don't make it worse than it already is!" Dipper stopped, took a deep, steadying breath and silently drove the car back into the lot. He climbed out of the front seat and Wendy was prepared to open her door but before she could Dipper put his hands on the outside and pinned her with such an intense stare that it made Wendy shrink back into the vinyl seats, the makeup giving his features an intense, almost scary, edge.

"Next time I see him," he said in a dangerously low voice, "I'm knocking his fucking teeth down his throat."

"Don't," Wendy said in a small, defeated voice.

"I wasn't asking your permission," said Dipper.

"Please," Wendy pleaded, "I can take care of myself and if you guys got involved and he did something to you..." she swallowed as a lump came to her throat but she felt no sorrow, only rage. Her friends, especially Dipper, were in the same category of things his brother would not hurt unless he wanted a knife in his throat.

Dipper didn't move for a moment, his eyes still blazing. Then he spun on his heel and stormed away in the direction of a nearby bench.

Wendy sat there feeling miserable. Out of everything that had happened that morning upsetting Dipper was the one thing that she couldn't handle. She knew that they were all right, and that her brother needed to finally be punished for his actions, but still the idea of something happening to Dipper was too much for her.

Mabel turned around in the passenger seat and gave him an encouraging smile.

"He's just worried about you Wen-Wen," she said gently.

"I know," Wendy replied with a sigh, staring at Dippers sitting form. "I guess that just makes it worse. I don't mean to piss him off-"

"You didn't, trust me. He really cares a lot about you," Mabel cut in. "You've got no idea Wendy how much he cares about you. He'd fight God and The Devil for you. He just doesn't like your brother. And honestly if I see your brother after this too, I'm not so sure I'll be able to stop myself from ripping his nuts off."

"And you'd do it too wouldn't you?"

"Totally," Mabel said with a wicked grin. "Want some concealer for that thing?"

Wendy chuckled. "Yes Mabel I would love some concealer."

* * *

From the sidewalk, He watched the girl shuffle forward in the seat of the car to help the redhead.

The trip from Canada had been easy, almost a complete flashback to the day He'd killed the man for his car and mechanic's clothes after escaping Smith's Grove. He'd overpowered a grizzled driver in Niagara Falls and from there had taken every backroad and forest path possible through the border. Instinct had told Him the way to Gravity Falls and He'd been pleasantly surprised to find that even after all the advancement of the past twelve years the town was small and quite and He hadn't known who it was that He was looking for.

They'd forgotten Him. In the twelve short years that He'd been gone the world completely forgotten about Him.

When the sun had risen, He'd decided to set out on foot in hoping to find someone that would pique The Evil's interest. That early in the morning there had only been adults setting out for work and although He had watched them in hopes that one of them would prove of interest none of them had. He'd walked through half of the town before He'd felt something, like a tremor through the air, something dark, something simultaneously strong and faint and...familiar.

Like a long lost family member.

He'd waited outside of the house, curious to see who it was that eluded such a feeling, expecting some pretty young girl to come outside.

He'd been hadn't been shocked to see the girl, tall but thin as a whip with long, shaggy red hair and green eyes, eyes that had been filled with tears and something else, something He could recognize. Standing behind a tall shrub in a neighbouring yard He'd watched the girl walk down the street, still as a statue, intrigued by the underlying darkness He could feel. He'd never in His life had any kind of extrasensory powers but even now as He watched the girl alight from the car with her friend He could still feel it like a pulse, like a beacon that thrummed just underneath the surface, a contrast to the child in Him buried underneath all The Evil.

He cocked His head to the side.

Yes...this was the one, the one that The Evil had driven Him here for. The only question was whether or not It wanted her dead or alive. He wasn't sure yet.


End file.
